.jirr  OF 

ORNIA 

jAN  DJEGO 


1 


POEMS 


BT 


PAUL    H.    HAYNE 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR    AND     FIELDS 

M DCCC  LV 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  <"ongress    in  the  year  1854,  by 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


B  o  3  T  o  s: 

THCRSTON   AK1)    TOBKY,   PR1.XTKRS. 


DEDICATORY  SONNET. 

To  Thee,  dear  Angel  of  my  cherished  home, 

Thou  fair  Ideal  of  my  youth's  delight, 

Whose  all-embracing  love,  serene  and  bright, 

Circles  my  being,  as  the  heavenly  dome 

Encircles  earth,  I  dedicate  these  lays, 

My  Fancy's  first,  weak  offerings  ;  to  thy  heart, 

O  !  gentle  Critic,  shall  thy  Poet  turn, 

Should  colder  Censors  shut  the  gate  of  praise, 

Where,  when  his  golden  hopes  have  ceased  to  burn, 

And  high  Ambitions  one  by  one  depart, 

He  knows  the  Solace,  and  the  balm  repose, 

To  heal  life's  deepest  wounds,  and  leave  him — blest ; 

For  shrined  there,  th'  exhaustless  fountain  flows 

Of  that  grand  faith,  whose  gift  is  —  perfect  rest. 


NOTE. 

THE  principal  Poem  in  this  little  volume  is  found- 
ed upon  a  legend,  which  sprung  from  the  horror  of 
the  early  Christian  Church  for  what  it  deemed  the 
abominations  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  Theogonies, 
especially  the  deification  of  Love,  as  exemplified  in  the 
conception  of  Venus.  With  a  strange  misapprehension 
of  the  beautiful  myth  which  originally  invested  that 
Goddess  with  a  charm  far  higher  and  purer  than  any  it 
would  be  possible  to  extract  from  the  embodiment  of 
mere  sensual  passion,  the  '  Fathers '  were  studiously 
careful  to  instil  into  the  minds  of  their  pupils  and 
followers  an  utter  loathing  for  the  very  name  of  one, 
who,  elevated  by  Hesiod  and  Homer  to  celestial 
honors,  was  degraded  by  Augustine  and  Chrysostom 
to  the  level  of  a  fiend.  This  idea  generated  the  belief 
which,  with  many  modifications,  continued  to  subsist 
as  far  down  as  the  twelfth  century,  that  Venus,  estab- 
lishing her  abode  in  the  heart  of  beautiful  and  solitary 
locations,  waylaid  Christian  pilgrims  and  travellers, 
and  having  seduced  them  to  her  enchanted  Palace, 
completed  their  ruin  by  the  employment  of  every  art 
of  voluptuous  fascination.  When  her  triumph  was 
perfected,  she  abandoned  disguises,  and  revealing  her 


VI  NOTE. 

true  character  of  a  devil,  the  tragedy  ended  of  course 
in  a  brimstone  conflagration.  Having  no  fancy  for  a 
melodramatic  termination  like  this,  I  have  endeavored 
to  give  to  the  legend  a  deeper  moral  significance,  to 
enforce  the  truth  that  the  apotheosis  of  the  Sense  is 
the  funeral  of  the  Soul,  and  that  in  the  maelstrom 
of  the  passions,  virtue  and  happiness  are  sure  to  go 
down  together. 

There  is  a  poem  by  Richard  Monckton  Milnes,  enti- 
tled the  '  Northern  Knight  in  Italy,'  brought  tc  my 
notice  after  most  of  the  ensuing  verses  were  written, 
of  which  this  legend  of  Venus  also  forms  the  ground- 
work. This  discovery  did  not  deter  me  from  the 
prosecution  of  my  own  poem,  as  I  conceive  that  such 
traditions  are  common  property.  It  is  for  the  reader 
to  say,  whether,  in  the  treatment  of  the  subject,  there 
is  evidence  sufficient  to  sustain  the  charge,  so  fashion- 
able in  these  days,  of  plagiarism. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 

Page. 
THE  TEMPTATION  OF  VENUS  ....        9 

SoNNtTS  ......  39 

-4    LIFE  AND  DEATH          .            .            .            .  .39 

ON  THE  REFUSAL  OF  THE  LEGISLATURE,  &C.          .  41 

SEPARATION       .            .            .            .            .  .43 

To .            .             .            .            .          '  .  44 

»  SHELLEY  .  .  ....      45 

t  OCTOBER      .            .            .            ...            .  46 

To .             .            .                      '    f  .47 

LINES    .             ......  49 

ElTRACT  FROM  AN  UNFINISHED  POEM         .            .  .52 

THE  PORTRAIT  ......  54 

THE  ISLES  OF  THE  BLEST  .            .            .            .  .56 

THE  CATARACT  ......  59 

A  FRAGMENT           .            .            .            .            .  .62 

LINES      .......  65 

SUNSET         .......       67 

LINES      .......  69 

STANZAS        .             ....  71 

LINES      .......  73 

THE  REALM  OF  REST                                   .            .  75 


V111  CONTEXTS. 

» 

LINES 79 

LINES                         •  81 

IMAGINATION  AND  MEMORY        ....  83 

ON 84 

MY  FATHER       ......  87 

THE  GOLDEN  AGE    .  .  .  .  .  .91 

THE  EVE  OF  THE  BRIDAL          ....  94 

ASPIRATIONS  .  .  .  .  .  .98 

LI.NES 100 

AfiTIPATHIES                 ......  103 

To 104 

MISCONSTRUCTION     ......  105 

A  FRAGMENT                .            .            .            .            .  Ift6 

NOTES        .            .                           .            .            .  107 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF   VENUS. 


A    MONKISH    LEOKND. 


BROAD  in  the  tempered  rays  of  the  red  sun, 
The  Egyptian  desert  glittered  leagues  away, 
Great  clouds  of  floating  dust,  confused  and  dun, 
Hung  heavy  on  the  haggard  brow  of  Day, 
And  veiled  the  fiery  light  of  that  fierce  clime, 
As  Centuries  veil  the  land's  mysterious  prime. 


n. 

The  parched  palms  stood  motionless  and  mute, 
To  plead  the  breezes'  coming  ;  the  still  sky 
Looked  heedless  on  the  melancholy  suit, 
Nor  sent  the  faintest  wind  to  breathe  reply  ; 
Nature  had  sunk  to  dumbness ;  no  sweet  voice 
Bade  the  dull  soul  of  solitude  rejoice. 
I 


10  THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


in. 

And  near  the  horizon,  a  broad  band  of  beams, 
Dulled  by  the  fog  of  sands,  was  bound  upon 
The  forehead  of  the  sickly  Eve,  the  gleams 
Of  whose  wild  eyes,  all  desolate,  and  wan, 
Glowed  fitfully,  and  with  that  gloomy  glare, 
Which  lights  the  looks  of  passionless  despair. 


IV. 

No  fleet  bird  flying  to  its  nightly  nest, 

Piped  a  low,  homeward  note  of  innocent  glee, 

But  by  the  waning  portals  of  the  West, 

As  rising  to  some  dim  Eternity, 

A  single  eagle  towered  in  lonely  state, 

Fronting  the  lurid  sunset's  gorgeous  gate. 


v. 

And  placid  through  the  silence  and  the  waste, 
A  haunted  realm  of  immemorial  years, 
By  solemn  mysteries,  and  sad  shades  embraced, 
Where  phantom  Fable  her  weird  aspect  rears, 
And  the  dead  Ages'  ghosts  in  shadowy  might, 
And  shrouded  grandeur,  wander  into  Night, 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS.  11 


Roll  the  still  waters  of  the  '  breezeless ' 1  Nile, 
Like  an  old  dream  through  a  dismantled  brain, 
That  faintly  brings  the  sunlight,  and  the  smile, 
And  the  far  memories  of  its  youth  again ; 
A  vision  of  the  desert  ;  a  sublime 
Memento  mori  of  the  eldest  time. 

VII. 

A  furlong  from  the  stream's  remotest  edge, 
The  rude  walls  of  a  convent  rose  from  out 
A  mass  of  circumambient  rocks,  whose  ledge, 
By  a  thin  belt  of  green  was  girt  about ; 
A  place  of  peaceful  prayer  and  pious  rest, 
Whose  sacred  bounds  a  special  saint  had  blest : 

VIII. 

That  holy  man  of  God,  whose  awful  zeal 
Struck  pale  the  cheek  of  many  an  anchorite, 
Who  knew  his  own  faith  cold,  and  could  but  feel, 
In  the  great  blaze  of  Simeon's  steadfast  light 
Of  grand  endurance,  that  the  hope  was  dim, 
Which  promised  Heaven  to  feeble  souls,  like  him. 


12  THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


IX. 

This  sombre  evening,  when  the  vesper-psalm 

Had  fainted  to  an  echo,  sad  and  low, 

There  thrilled  upon  the  passive  season's  calm, 

A  dreary,  deathlike  wail  of  sudden  wo, 

That  left  the  shocked  sense,  quivering  as  it  past 

On  the  hot  wings  of  the  delirious  blast. 


The  startled  monks  looked  forth  in  haste  to  see 
What  demon  was  abroad.     Lo  !  the  wide  Heaven, 
A  moment  since,  expanded  tranquilly, 
Now  seemed  from  its  serene  foundations  riven, 
And  tossed  in  clouds  of  chaos ;  horrid  loom 
The  ghastly  eyeballs  of  the  dread  SIMOOM. 


XI. 

And  folded  in  his  arms'  Titanic  sweep, 

A  hapless  caravan  of  doomed  men, 

Rent  the  red  air  from  fiery  deep  to  deep, 

With  frenzied  cries,  his  breath  soon  stilled  again  ; 

And  when  his  flaming  fury  vanished  by, 

There  was  no  sign  of  life  beneath  the  sky. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


XII. 

Yet  while  the  monks  stood  gazing  with  the  awe 
Of  speechless  horror  blazoned  on  each  face, 
From  the  spent  outskirts  of  the  storm,  they  saw 
Two  shapes  emerge  —  reeling  beyond  the  place 
Of  doom  and  desolation  —  hand  in  hand, 
They  staggered  from  the  burning  pall  of  sand. 

XIII. 

Then,  the  good  Fathers'  hospitable  doors 
Were  backward  dashed,  and  a  loud  shout  of  cheer, 
Such  as,  perchance,  those  lone,  lethargic  shores 
Had  never  roused  before,  rang  silver-clear, 
And,  like  some  rescuing  Angel's  tender  call, 
Wedded  with  music  from  celestial  hall, 

XIV. 

Smote  on  the  Wanderers'  hearing  —  a  new  strength 
Upbraced  the  sinking  limb,  the  glimmering  sight 
Grew  lucid  with  fresh  hope,  until  at  length 
Saved  from  the  winged  Pestilence,  their  flight 
Was  stayed,  and  Death's  insatiate  eyes 
Were  turned  from  those  he  falsely  deemed  his  prize. 


14  THE    TEMPTATION    OF   VENUS. 


XV. 

The  one,  a  graceful  woman,  the  fine  mould 

Of  whose  pale  beauty,  pointed  to  the  land 

Of  Helen,  the  divine  —  a  cross  of  gold 

Shone  on  her  bosom,  whence  the  winds  had  fanned 

Her  garment  slightly,  and  revealed  the  snow 

Of  the  rare  loveliness  that  heaved  below. 


XVI. 

Beside  her  clung  a  boy,  whose  tender  age 
Scarce  filled  a  lustrum  —  through  the  starting  tear, 
Gleamed  his  full,  luminous  eye  —  the  terrible  rage 
Of  the  late  storm  had  left  a  touch  of  fear 
Upon  his  marble  forehead,  and  the  strife 
Sent  the  warm  blood  back  to  the  seat  of  life. 

xvn. 

A  wounded  rose  and  rose-bud  linked  together, 
Borne  by  a  tempest  from  Arcadian  vales, 
And  dropped  within  a  realm  of  burning  weather, 
Where  the  bloom  withers,  and  the  music  fails, 
This  gentle  pair  a  kindly  friendship  wooed, 
And  Christian  care  made  bright  the  solitude. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


XVIII. 

But  ere  a  single  moon  did  wax  and  wane, 
The  mother  melted  in  the  Peace  above, 
As  stars  melt  from  the  morning's  purple  plain  ; 
Ere  lost  in  light,  one  pang  her  mortal  love 
Struck  to  the  parting  soul,  and  dimmed  its  way 
A  moment,  to  the  Kingdom  of  the  Day. 


I  need  not  tell  how,  in  that  desolate  home, 

The  boy  aspired  to  manhood,  how  the  flowers 

Of  a  most  noble  nature  'neath  the  dome 

Of  sheltering  love,  bloomed  through  the  lonely  hours, 

White,  fragrant,  beautiful,  —  so,  had  he  then 

Translated  been  from  this  low  sphere  of  men, 


xx. 

And  borne  among  the  Angels,  even  there, 

He  might  have  stood  on  equal  terms  with  them, 

Undazzled,  walked  in  Heaven's  auroral  air, 

And  worn  unquestioned  Heaven's  high  diadem, 

For  Faith's  pure  fires  had  made  his  heart  their  shrine, 

And  fused  his  human-life  in  God's  divine. 


16  THE   TEMPTATION    OF   VENUS. 


XXI. 

But  when  was  ever  known,  since  Time  began, 

A  Paradise  of  soul  that  did  not  lie 

Open  to  every  desperate  foe  of  man, 

To  curse  with  crime,  or  blast  with  treachery  ? 

Philemon  learned  the  mournful  truth  too  late, 

The  spirit's  weakness,  and  the  serpent's  hate. 

XXII. 

And  so,  it  chanced,  when  eighteen  summers  showed 
Their  mellowing  glory  on  his  brow  of  peace, 
One  morn,  when  less  intense  the  sunlight  glowed, 
And  the  still  stream,  in  joyance  of  release 
From  its  hot  kisses,  rippled  to  the  strand, 
With  a  low  monotone,  serene  and  bland  ; 

XXIII. 

Philemon,  in  a  meditative  maze 
Of  happy  fancies  wandering,  reached  a  spot, 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  his  accustomed  ways, 
Where  the  grim  desert  Genius  lingered  not, 
Whose  bloom  the  lavish  Spring  dropped  as  she  flew 
Through  the  still  aether,  deepening  all  the  blue. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS.  17 


XXIV. 

A  vale  of  greenery  'mid  the  sterile  blight, 

Sheltered  by  two  great  hillocks,  with  a  crown 

Of  palm-trees  fronting  northward  ;  still  and  bright 

Looked  the  oasis ;  a  rill  trickled  down 

Right  through  the  heart  of  the  sweet  place,  and  made- 

A  murmurous  melody,  —  Philemon  strayed 

XXV. 

Where  the  waves  lured  him,  until  suddenly 
Beside  a  fountain,  the  glad  rivulet's  source, 
Where  every  gentle  thing  was  wont  to  flee 
From  the  noon's  sullen  glare,  or  tempest's  force,, 
Like  a  grey  grandsire,  by  a  prattling  child, 
A  shadowy  ruin  rose  from  out  the  wild-4 

XXVI. 

Near  it,  there  lay  half-buried  in  the  drift, 
Swathing  the  columns  and  the  portico, 
Statues  of  Grecian  gods,  that  mutely  lift 
Their  sad,  discrowned  honors  in  the  glow 
Of  mocking  skies  —  each  desecrated  form, 
The  plaything  of  the  alternate  sun  and  storm. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


XXVII. 

With  trembling  limbs,  and  a  new  sense  of  wrong, 
Philemon  shrank  by  the  strange  idols  nigh, 
Entered  the  porch  irresolute,  and  long 
Doubted,  if  safe  it  were  to  feast  the  eye 
More  closely  on  this  spectacle  —  at  last, 
'Crushing  a  fear,  the  threshold-steps  were  past. 

XXVIII. 

He  reached  a  room  of  model  strictly  Greek, 

Supported  by  Corinthian  shafts,  that  rose 

(Cast  in  the  fairest  form  of  the  antique) 

With  that  aerial  lightness  of  repose, 

Which  crowns  the  perfect  grace  —  th'  ideal  wrought 

In  the  clear  depths  of  true  artistic  Thought. 

XXIX* 

Around,  the  storied  walls  were  thickly  hung 
With  master-works  of  the  Hellenic  mind, 
The  embodied  lays  the  ancient  Poets  sung, 
Ere  the  gross  world  was  stricken  fancy-blind, 
And  men  in  elemental  Nature  saw 
Glory  and  Love,  not  the  cold  gleam  of  Law. 


THE   TEMPTATION    OF   VENUS.  19 

XXX.  , 

But  life-like  and  magnificent  beyond 
Aught  else  enshrined  there,  the  Image  starts 
Of  HER,  the  ever-young,  the  fair,  the  fond, 
Whose  empire  is  the  universe  of  hearts, 
Whose  influence,  all-pervading  and  all  seeing, 
Glows,  like  a  golden  joy,  round  Nature's  being. 

XXXI. 

O !  Venus  Aphrodite  !  the  sole  birth 
Of  perfect  passion,  and  enduring  love, 
Vouchsafed  to  excommunicate  from  earth 
All  other  creeds  of  beauty,  and  to  prove 
The  rapturous  homage  at  thy  happy  shrine, 
The  one,  grand  faith  of  men,  all  deem  divine  : 

XXXII. 

O  !  Venus  Aphrodite  !  when  the  wave 

Of  the  becalmed  ^Egean  brought  the  Day 

A  vision  of  that  glory  the  Gods  gave, 

Humanity's  rough  edge  to  melt  away, 

The  winds  grew  mute,  the  thrilled  tides  owned  thy  might, 

Thou  Incarnation  of  the  world's  delight. 


20  THE   TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


XXXIII. 

The  Sun,  from  his  blue  realm  of  air,  looked  down 
Into  thine  eyes'  supreme  beatitude, 
And  formed  about  thy  shining  hair,  a  crown 
Of  many  rays  ;  the  Hours  their  haste  subdued, 
To  robe  thee  in  transparent  vestments  drawn 
From  the  far  woof  of  the  ascending  Dawn. 

xxxiv. 

See  where  she  moves !  the  delegated  Queen 

Of  sunny  shapes,  sweet  moods,  and  heavenly  thought, 

Filling  the  Air  with  halos,  —  a  serene 

Soul,  from  the  great  depths  of  being  brought 

To  vitalize  Creation,  and  to  stir 

The  Heaven  and  Earth  alike  to  worship  her. 

xxxv. 

See  where  she  moves !  her  white  arms  wreathed  around 

The  daintiest  of  the  Graces,  her  sweet  glance 

Most  eloquent  in  meaning,  though  no  sound 

Of  song  or  speech  hath  broken  yet  the  trance 

Of  the  lulled  Ocean,  and  her  rosy  mouth 

Breathes  only  the  fine  odors  of  the  South. 3 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF  VENUS. 
XXXVI. 

What  wonder  that  Philemon  oft  repairs 
To  worship  this  new  Deity ;  to  steep 
His  spirit  in  enchantment,  till  the  years 
Of  a  full  vigorous  manhood  rise,  and  leap 
Full-armed  upon  him,  powerful  to  succeed 
In  dragging  Faith  from  canticle  and  creed. 

xxxvu. 

Thus,  when  the  time  was  ripe,  the  legend  saith, 
That  wondrous  picture's  sweet  original, 
With  honeyed  words,  and  music-laden  breath, 
Came  to  complete  Philemon's  hapless  fall ; 
Eager  he  sprung,  subdued  to  her  command, 
And  past  with  her,  to  Love's  Elysian-land. 

xxxvin. 

Two  milk-white  chargers  bore  them  to  the  home 
Of  Faerie,  on  a  lustrous  night  in  June, 
Glance  the  fleet  steeds  beneath  the  alternate  dome 
Of  sky  and  forest,  pallid  with  the  moon, 
Speeding  with  phantom  swiftness  on  the  wind, 
Which,  sometimes  baffled,  seemed  to  moan  behind. 


21 


22  THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


XXXIX. 

At  length,  they  entered  on  a  wilderness 

Of  dusky  foliage  and  a  gloom  severe, 

Which,  like  the  clinging  horror  of  distress, 

Hung  round  the  trees,  —  a  girding  ghost  of  fear 

The  tutelar  Genius  of  a  dismal  realm, 

No  tide  of  rays  from  sun,  or  star,  could  whelm. 


XL. 

Yet  sudden,  'mid  the  dimness  of  the  wood, 
A  radiance  like  the  flush  of  vernal  eves, 
Stole  warmly  through  the  sombre  solitude, 
And  played  in  purple  on  the  glimmering  leaves  ; 
Slowly  in  lessening  shadows,  waned  the  night, 
Pervaded  by  that  rich,  voluptuous  light. 

XLI. 

How  shall  I  picture  the  supreme  amaze 
With  which  —  an  open  pathway  having  won  — 
Philemon  rode  into  the  mellowed  blaze, 
Like  muffled  beams  of  a  thin-clouded  sun  — 
That  shone  from  a  broad  Palace,  lifting  there 
Its  unimagined  wonders  in  the  air  — 


XHE    TEMPTATION    OF    VEXTTS.  23 


.    XLII. 

Dome  piled  on  dome  continuous,  filled  the  sky, 
With  a  crystalline  lustre,  whose  clear  hue, 
As  it  receded  heavenward,  dreamily, 
Like  a  far  constellation  gemmed  the  blue  — 
That  drank  a  nebulous  lustre  from  the  spires, 
Remotely  raised,  where  pale  the  mystic  fires. 

ILIII. 

In  voiceless  admiration  gazed  the  youth, 
On  such  supernal  beauty  ;  not  in  dreams, 
Or  most  fantastic  mockeries  of  the  truth, 
Upreared  by  Fancy,  had  the  feeblest  gleams 
Of  a  like  splendor  shone,  presaging  thence 
This  stately  and  serene  magnificence. 

XLIV. 

They  reached  the  court-yard,  and  dismounting,  past 
Up  a  grand  marble  stairway,  flooded  o'er 
With  a  glad,  golden  glory  from  the  vast 
Interior  chambers  streaming  evermore, 
Like  the  Aurora,  glittering  to  and  fro, 
Across  a  pallid  solitude  of  snow  — 


24  THE   TEMPTATION    OF   VENUS. 


XLV. 

When  the  last  step  was  gained,  a  massive  door 
With  faint,  melodious  thunder  rolled  apart, 
And,  standing  on  a  rare,  mosaic  floor, 
Circled  by  dazzling  plenitudes  of  art, 
Philemon  paused,  o'erburdened  with  excess 
Of  novel  and  bewildering  loveliness. 

XLVI. 

Soft  in  his  ear  a  silvery  accent  sighs, 

'  Advance  with  me,  and  share  my  fond  endeavor 

To  tread  the  mazes  of  this  Paradise, 

Which  I  have  promised  shall  be  yours  forever ; 

That  you  may  meet,  blest  mortal,  face  to  face, 

Th'  entrancing  secrets  of  this  marvellous  place.' 

XLVII. 

She  seized  his  hand,  and  at  that  moment  swelled 
A  strain  of  thrilling  music  overhead, 
Sweet  as  the  supernatural  lays  that  spelled 
Earth's  daughters,  ere  Time's  early  bloom  was  dead, 
WThen  Angels  wooed  them,  and  the  'rapt  sky  rung 
Harmonious  echoes  to  the  heavenly  tongue. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS.  25 


XLVIII. 

These  notes  dissolving  in  a  genial  shower, 
Fell  from  a  cloud  of  ever-varying  glow, 
That  where  the  temple's  loftiest  arches  tower, 
Had  been  upborne  from  incense  shrines  below, 
And  veiled  within  whose  breast,  some  God  of  song, 
Outpoured  a  soul  whose  love  had  suffered  wrong. 

XLIX. 

It  rose,  a  passionate  sea  of  stormy  sounds, 

And  soared,  till  the  vast  area  overflowed  ; 

Then,  bursting  from  the  building's  jealous  bounds, 

Too  narrow  for  its  frenzy,  it  bestowed 

Its  wild,  tumultuous  surges  on  the  breeze, 

That  swept  —  a  tempest  thundering  through  the  trees. 


L. 

And  next,  it  sank,  and  sank,  like  ebbing  tides 
By  the  still  marge  of  Ocean,  when  the  Moon 
Hath  lulled  the  rippling  waste  whereon  she  rides 
Triumphant  to  the  Night's  unclouded  noon, 
And  a  scarce  visible  heaving  stirs  the  deep, 
Whose  charmed  waves  are  dreaming  in  their  sleep. 
2 


26  THE    TEMPTAT1OM    OF    VENUS. 


LI. 

Again  it  changes  ;  and  in  frolic  glee, 

The  flowing  of  a  soft  and  fairy  measure, 

Gushes  upon  the  senses  soothingly, 

And  steeps  them  in  a  dreamy  mist  of  pleasure, 

Recalling  woodland  bowers  in  vernal  weather, 

When  you  and  Love  first  wandered  forth  together 


LIT. 

A  silver  rill  of  most  mellifluous  strain, 
Receding  to  a  whisper,  faint  and  far  — 
Lessened  —  then  lost  —  as  in  the  blue  domain 
Of  distance  quenched,  the  glory  of  a  star  — 
Left  a  dead,  desert  silence,  all  athirst 
To  drink  in  life  from  a  fresh  music-burst. 

LIII. 

Soft  in  Philemon's  ear  the  Temptress  sighs, 
'Advance  with  me,  for  thou  hast  only  passed 
The  threshold  of  these  pleasing  mysteries, 
And  but  a  tithe  of  the  sweet  lore  amassed, 
With  which  I  mean  to  charge  thy  earnest  soul, 
As  clouds  are  charged  with  lightning,  and  control 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


LIV. 

The  springs  of  subtler  sympathies,  than  ere 
Have  henceforth  ruled  thy  being  ;  a  new  sense, 
The  motion  of  a  longing,  sweet  and  rare, 
Shall  crowned  be  with  full  intelligence, 
Removing  from  thy  life  the  desert  ban, 
To  teach  the  power,  and  bring  the  bliss  of  man.' 

r 

LV. 

And  on  through  the  tall  colonnades  they  went, 
With  linked  hands,  Philemon's  eyes  of  fire, 
Dashed  with  the  dews  of  madness,  strangely  blent 
With  sense  of  sights  bewildering,  —  the  desire 
Of  further  knowledge,  and  the  looks  that  shine 
In  his  Guide's  glance,  flushed  as  with  fiery  wine. 

LVI. 

And  now  they  reached  a  fountain's  marbled  brink, 
And  now  they  stood  in  rapture  by  the  tide, 
Where  starry  flowers  were  bending  down  to  drink 
Fresh  beauty  from  the  waters  fair  and  wide, 
Whose  tremulous  spray  shot  up  as  if  in  doubt, 
Lest  the  grand  rainbow  dreams  should  struggle  out. 


27 


28  THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


LVII. 

While  thus  he  paused,  inhaling  the  fine  mist, 
The  balmy  coolness  of  the  great  parterre, 
Slowly  the  clouds  of  gold  and  amethyst 
Unrolled  their  splendid  vans  along  the  air  ; 
And  burst  another  vision  on  his  brain, 
Whose  very  glory  brought  a  touch  of  pain. 

LVIII. 

A  vision  of  bright  women  —  dancing  girls, 
And  sylphs  of  lightsome  action  and  soft  grace, 
Enwreathed  with  the  whiteness  of  pure  pearls, 
Perfect  in  limb,  and  exquisite  in  face, 
Poised,  as  if  looking  for  a  sign  to  mount 
In  rhythmic  measures  round  that  mystic  fount. 

LIX. 

And  the  sign  came  !  —  a  clash  of  cymbals  grand, 

And  the  whole  dazzling  throng,  with  glancing  feet, 

Darted  like  shining  arrows  from  the  hand 

Of  a  God-Archer,  into  circles  fleet 

Of  matchless  symmetry,  and  wanton  art, 

That  snared  the  sense,  to  desecrate  the  heart. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS.  29 


LX. 

Philemon  gazed  till  he  could  gaze  no  more, 
And  fell,  struck  blind  with  passion  ;  in  his  ears 
There  seemed  to  sound  the  liberated  roar 
Of  the  young  blood,  so  stagnant  kept  for  years 
Of  bald  Egyptian  solitude,  and  so 
The  stormier  now  in  its  unfettered  flow. 


LXI. 

Soft  in  his  ear  a  silvery  accent  sighs, 

1  Advance  with  me  —  diviner  secrets  yet 

Await  to  crown  the  wonder  in  thine  eyes, 

Already  on  the  sweet  fruition  set 

Of  this,  our  wild  Elysium  of  all  joy, 

Which  Time  can  never  blight,  nor  Death  destroy.' 

LXII. 

And  the  fond  arm  that  now  but  touched  his  own, 
Stole  like  a  zone  of  fire  about  his  breast ; 
Uplifted  from  the  purple-veined  stone, 
O'ermastered  still  by  a  supreme  unrest, 
He  wandered  with  the  dame  down  dim  arcades, 
And  the  mild  gloom  of  immemorial  shades  : 


30  THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 


LXIII. 

There,  brooded  Twilights  of  a  hundred  dyes, 
Caught  from  the  sunsets  of  those  lands  of  balm, 
Where  deathless  Summer  radiates  through  the  skies 
And  spreads  below  her  an  immortal  calm  ; 
Through  the  dun  shadows  countless  pinions  plied, 
And  a  Song-Spirit  warbled  by  his  side. 

LXIV. 

They  reach  a  grotto,  bowered  about  with  vines, 
Whence  gleam  the  luscious  grapes  thro'  the  dusk  rays, 
Like  sapphire  globes  of  a  soft  flame,  that  shrines 
The  subtle  essence  the  wine-votaries  praise, 
And  there,  through  bars  of  deepening  verdure  glows 
A  sensuous  mystery  of  divine  repose. 

LXV. 

The  full-orbed  Moon  is  setting  in  the  West, 
Flooding  the  landscape  with  a  Sea  of  splendor, 
The  wanton  Wind  faints  on  the  rose's  breast 
In  delicate  dalliance,  tremulous  and  tender, 
And  a  serene  and  silvery  haze  is  spread 
Among  the  tranquil  spaces  overhead. 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF  VENUS.  31 


LXVI. 

O !  most  bewitching  Hour  of  all  the  Hours, 
The  rugged,  common  Time  is  not  thy  Sire, 
Thou  stealest  forth  from  the  voluptuous  flowers, 
Born  of  their  passion,  and  the  starry  fire 
Flushed  o'er  them,  as  a  God's  love  bathed  of  old, 
A  mortal  maid  in  a  rich  rain  of  gold. 

LXVII. 

'  Philemon  !  MY  Philemon  ! '  how  the  tone 

Thrilled  through  him  with  a  tender  power  to  thrall ! 

His  scrupulous  Fears,  those  guardian  Saints,  have  flown, 

And  bared  to  the  base  Evil  now,  is  all 

His  plastic  nature  ;  —  the  long  strife  is  past, 

And  the  mad  victim  blindly  yields  at  last. 

LXVIII. 

So,  on  the  dewy  atmosphere,  outgushed 

A  world  of  sighs,  whose  amorous  plenitude 

Stole  to  the  Nightingale's  green  home,  where  hushed, 

And  dreaming,  drooped  the  Minstrel  of  the  Wood, 

And  set  the  music,  sleep  had  frozen,  free, 

In  tropic  tides  of  tender  harmony. 


32  THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS. 

LXIX. 

The  mellowed  plash  of  fountains  —  the  low  breeze, 
That  fitful  rose,  and  sank,  and  died  away, 
With  scarce  an  answering  whisper  from  the  trees, 
Awed  by  the  passion  of  that  wondrous  lay, 
Came,  the  first  cloud  of  his  soul's  tempest  spent, 
With  a  strange  sense  of  drowsy  languishment : 

LXX. 

But  ever,  if  perchance  on  the  unrest, 

And  rosy  riot  of  his  heart,  there  fell 

The  gleam  of  a  pure  thought,  the  Temptress  guessed 

Its  presence  and  its  purport,  and  too  well 

Plied  the  potential  magic  of  that  charm, 

Whose  fiery  poison  worked  the  deadly  harm. 

LXXI. 

And  thus,  from  day  to  day,  from  week  to  week, 
From  shameless  month  to  month,  the  potion  fed 
On  blood  of  brain  and  body,  till  the  cheek 
Grew  colorless,  and  the  sapped  soul  was  dead, 
Through  whose  dried  branches  to  Decay  resigned, 
Remorse  rushed  howling,  like  a  hollow  wind. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS.  33 


LXXII. 

The  pestilential  pool  of  Sensual  Sin, 

Crept  inch  by  inch  upon  him  ;  to  the  core 

Each  nobler  impulse  withered,  and  within 

The  mind's  waste  garden,  girded  round  of  yore 

By  holy  aspirations,  a  foul  blight 

Hung  like  the  pall  that  circles  Hell  with  night. 

Lxxm. 

The  flowers  no  longer  shed  their  sweets  for  him, 
For  him,  the  winds  no  tender  secret  brought, 
The  very  stars  in  Heaven  looked  wan  and  dim, 
Seen  through  the  tainted  shadows  of  his  thought ; 
He  walked  a  hideous  realm  of  phantasy, 
Swayed  by  a  sullen  gloom,  or  desperate  glee. 

LXXIV. 

Thus  sunk,  thus  hopeless,  this  pale  prodigal 

Of  the  soul's  priceless  treasure,  on  an  Eve, 

Whose  breath  came  chill  like  Autumn's,  and  the  fall 

Of  whose  sad  footsteps  a  low  dirge  did  weave 

With  faint  elegiac  breezes,  sat  beside 

His  leman  in  the  daylight's  ebbing  tide. 


34          THE  TEMPTATION  OF  VENUS. 


LXXV. 

To  hers  he  would  have  pressed  his  feverish  lips, 
Her  willing  breast  was  free  to  his  embrace, 
When  the  quick  shadow  of  a  sharp  eclipse 
Came  o'er  the  purple  passion  of  her  face  ; 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  wild,  marble  stare 
On  space,  and  some  momentous  vision  there. 

LXXVI. 

Philemon  with  a  sudden,  shuddering  thrill, 

Followed  her  palsied  looks,  till  he  could  see, 

Down  dropping  thro'  the  mist-wreaths,  bright  and  still, 

An  Image  of  divine  serenity  ; 

Whose  lucent,  pitying,  melancholy  eyes, 

Shone  on  him  like  reproachful  memories. 

LXXVII. 

Between  his  Love  and  him  the  Presence  stood, 

With  tender  glance,  and  mien  of  gentlest  power  ; 

The  Evil  Spirit  cowered  before  the  Good, 

As  Darkness  cowers,  when  blooms  the  Morning  Hour, 

That  rose  from  God's  glad  garden,  that  distils 

Its  living  fragrance  round  a  thousand  hills. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS.  35 


LXXVIII. 

A  sound  like  the  far  rush  of  wings  uprose, 
O'ermastering  Silence,  gathering  mightily, 
As  when  great  flocks  of  birds  with  measured  blows 
Of  powerful  vans  sweep  o'er  the  solemn  sea  : 
Then  came  the  thunder-peal,  the  fiery  levin, 
As  if  a  star  had  burst  its  bounds  in  Heaven. 


LXXIX. 

And  down  from  crystal  battlement  to  base, 
The  enchanted  Palace  crumbled  into  dust, 
To  blackness  sank  the  beauty  and  the  grace 
With  which  the  Goddess  veiled  the  home  of  Lust ; 
Whence  for  an  instant  shot  a  deadly  glare, 
Flashed  from  the  eyes  of  some  demoniac  Fear, 

LXXX. 

Philemon  sought  his  Guide,  from  her  to  ask 

Fit  consolation  in  this  dread  extreme, 

But  the  fair  Angel  had  performed  her  task, 

And  now,  faint,  fading  upward  as  a  dream, 

Her  white  plumes  shamed  the  clouds,  whose  dense  array, 

Closed  into  silvery  splendors  round  her  way. 


-86  THE  TEMPTATION  OF  VENUS. 


LXXXI. 

But  when  the  form  receded  to  a  pale, 
Impalpable  shade,  like  ghosts  of  clouds  that  pass 
Across  the  Moon,  winged  by  a  noiseless  gale, 
Or  the  weird  mist  that  shrouds  the  Wizard's  glass, 
A  solemn  voice  stole  on  him  from  afar, 
Like  music  melting  from  some  mournful  Star. 

LXXXII. 

•*  Poor  Priest  of  Passion  !  thou  hast  fed  the  fire 
On  the  fierce  Altar  builded  in  thy  breast, 
Consumed  the  wings  of  every  grand  Desire, 
And  scorned  the  Seraph  whose  sweet  love  had  blest ; 
Thy  soul  hath  lost  its  God-ward  impulse  long, 
And  thou  art  dead  to  Crown,  and  Palm,  and  Song. 

LXXXIII. 

'  Look  back  !  0  fallen  man,  and  mark  the  way 
Thy  pliant  footsteps  were  not  loth  to  tread, 
While  blushed  the  aureole  of  a  perfect  day, 
And  Christ's  last  word  of  grace  was  almost  said, 
Which,  uttered  once,  the  awful  veil  is  riven, 
That  sways  between  our  mortal  sight  and  Heaven. 


THE    TEMPTATION    OF    VENUS.  37 


LXXXIII. 

'  Look  back  !  O  fallen  man,  and  mark  the  bloom 

That  blossomed  on  thy  childhood's  golden  sky, 

Bent  like  a  bow  of  promise  o'er  the  boom 

Of  life's  uncertain  Sea  —  a  melody 

Most  glorious  sounded  from  those  shining  waves, 

But  now  the  tide  seems  moaning  over  —  graves. 

LXXXV. 

'  The  graves  of  all  thy  upright  soul  had  borne 
Well  pleasing  to  the  Angels  —  desolate  now 
The  brooding  waters  —  stagnant,  and  forlorn 
The  sky,  that  laughed  once,  like  a  happy  brow  ; 
And  ere  thy  noon,  the  sad  years  sin-oppressed, 
Are  rushing  blackly  downward  to  the  West. 

LXXXVI. 

'  Go  forth  to  find  thy  crime's  just  recompense, 
Go  forth  to  meet  the  Sorrow  and  the  Shame, 
Which  to  the  Souls  who  canonize  the  SENSE, 
Cling  ever,  like  fierce  Serpents  born  of  flame, 
Draw  in  earth's  lowest  Air  thy  laboring  breath, 
And  learn  the  full  significance  of  death. 


38  THE    TEMPTATION    OF   VENUS. 


LXXXVII. 

'  Yet  from  the  ruin  of  thy  low  estate, 

A  penitential  patience  hath  sufficed 

To  plume  the  heart  for  the  Empyreal  gate, 

And,  the  serene  benignity  of  Christ ; 

In  humbleness  and  prayer  work  out  thy  doom, 

Till  Glory  trembles  from  the  depths  of  Gloom. 

LXXXVIII. 

'  Then  may'st  thou  face  the  Beautiful,  and  bare 

Thy  willing  spirit  in  the  stany  sea 

Of  still  Beatitudes,  —  then  may'st  thou  share 

Our  God's  high  Noon  of  Immortality, 

And  drink  from  His  grand  eyes  that  burn  above, 

The  quenchless  light  and  perfect  peace  of  love.' 


SONNETS. 


LIFE   AND   DEATH. 

LIFE. 

SUFFERING  !  and  yet  magnificent  in  pain  ! 
Mysterious !  yet,  like  Spring-showers  in  the  sun, 
Veiling  the  light  with  their  melodious  rain, 
LIFE,  from  the  world  beyond  hath  radiance  won  : 
Its  gloomiest  phase  is  as  the  clouds  that  mourn 
'Neath  the  majestic  brightness  of  the  Arch, 
Where  nobler  orbs  in  deathless  daylight  burn, 
And  God's  great  pulses  beat  their  music  march. 
The  Heaven  we  worship  dimly  girt  with  tears, 
.The  Spirit-heaven,  what  is  it  but  a  Life, 
Lifting  its  soul  beyond  our  mortal  years 
That  oft  begin,  and  ever  end  with  strife  ; 
Strife  we  must  pass  to  win  a  happier  height, 
NATURE  but  travails  to  reveal  us — light. 


40  SONNETS. 


DEATH. 

Then  whence,  O  !  Death,  thy  dreariness  ?    We  know 
That  every  flower,  the  breezes'  flattering  breath 
Woos  to  a  blush,  and  love-like  murmuring  low, 
Dies  but  to  multiply  its  bloom  in  death  : 
The  rill's  glad,  prattling  infancy,  that  fills 
The  woodlands  with  its  song  of  innocent  glee, 
Is  passing  through  the  heart  of  shadowy  hills, 
To  swell  the  eternal  manhood  of  the  sea ; 
And  the  great  stars,  Creation's  minstrel-fires, 
Are  rolling  toward  the  central  source  of  light, 
Where  all  their  separate  glory  but  expires 
To  merge  into  one  world's  unbroken  might ; 
There  is  no  death  but  change,  soul  claspeth  soul, 
And  all  are  portion  of  the  immortal  whole. 


SONNETS.  41 


ON  THE  REFUSAL  OF  THE  LEGISLATURE  OP  A  NEIGHBORING  3TATK 
TO  APPROPRIATE  ANT  AMOUNT  FOR  THE  ERECTION  OF  A  MO«- 
UMENT  TO  TUB  MEMORY  OF  A  DISTINGUISHED  STATESMAN. 


YE  cannot  add  by  any  pile  YE  raise, 

One  jot  or  tittle  to  the  Statesman's  fame  ; 

That  the  world  knows  —  to  the  far- future  days- 
Belongs  his  glory,  and  its  radiant  flame 

Will  burn,  when  ye  are  dead,  decayed,  forgot ; 

Therefore,  your  opposition  matters  not ; 

The  thin-masqued  jealousies  of  present  tune, 
Unburied  in  his  grave,  survive  to  keep 

Rampant  the  hate  HE  deemed  his  highest  praise,. 
And  the  rude  clash  of  discord  o'er  his  sfeept 

But  for  his  great,  wise  acts,  his  faith  sublime, 
All  that  the  soul  of  genius  sanctifies, 

These  mount  where  viler  passions  cannot  climb, 
These  live  where  palsied  malice  faints  and  dies. 


SONNETS. 


II. 

Still  must  the  common  voice  denounce  the  deed, 
The  common  heart  swell  with  an  outraged  pride, 

That  the  poor  purchase  of  the  paltry  meed 
His  country  owed  him,  should  be  thus  denied  ; 

Shame  on  the  Senate  !    Shame  on  every  hand 
Which  did  not  falter  when  recording  there 
The  basest  act  achieved  for  many  a  year, 

To  fire  the  scorn  of  the  whole  Southern  land  ; 
Nor  the  South  only,  for  our  foes  will  cry, 
'  Out !  on  your  petty,  pasteboard  chivalry  ; 

The  people  who  refuse  to  crown  the  great 
And  good  with  honor,  do  themselves  eclipse, 

And  doubly  shameless  is  the  recreant  State, 

Whose  condemnation  comes  from  her  own  lips.' 


SONNETS.  43 


SEPARATION, 

OH  !  nevermore  on  earth,  nor  yet  in  Heaven, 

Shall  I  behold  thee  ?  —  if  the  crystal  light 

That  suns  the  palms  of  Paradise,  is  given 

To  my  freed  vision, 'when  the  awful  Night 

Of  Sin's  purgation  closes,  as  —  it  must, 

(For  in  God's  Providence,  we  humbly  trust, 

Sin  cannot  be  immortal)  *  —  even  then, 

Amid  that  multitudinous  company, 

That  throng  of  throned  Powers,  and  ransomed  men, 

O  !  nevermore  thy  saint- like  eyes  to  see, 

Shining  too  far  above  me  in  the  dome 

Of  Christ's  new  firmament,  would  only  be, 

Companionless  and  lorn  through  Heaven  to  roam, 

To  walk  the  golden  Streets,  but  not  —  of  home. 

*          "  It  suits  not  the  eternal  laws  of  Good, 
That  Evil  be  immortal  "  — 

FESTUS. 


44  SONNETS. 


TO 


LOVE  !  to  thy  heart  as  to  a  secret  shrine, 
Veiled  with  the  awe  of  deepest  sanctity, 
From  the  o'ercharged  clouds  of  Fate  I  fly, 
And  find  a  refuge  and  a  peace  divine  ; 
Then,  let  the  tempest  thunder  wide  and  far, 
Beyond  the  storm  which  Pain,  and  Want  combined, 
Have  raised  to  'whelm  my  manhood  and  my  mind, 
Thy  steadfast  virtues,  like  a  guardian-star, 
Point  to  the  realms  '  where  the  Eternal  are,T 
While  thy  calm  love  with  a  transcendent  light, 
Yet  mellowed  to  the  chastity  of  Night, 
—  My  God's  sweet  benediction,  thus  expressed,  — 
Burns  in  my  soul,  and  mantles  warm  and  bright, 
O'er  Grief's  sad  brow,  till  Grief  itself  grows  blest. 


SONNETS.  45 


SHELLEY. 

BECAUSE  they  thought  his  doctrines  were  not  just, 

Mankind  assumed  for  him  the  chastening  rod, 
And  Tyrants  reared  in  pride,  and  strong  in  lust, 

Wounded  the  noblest  of  the  sons  of  God  ; 
The  heart's  most  cherished  benefactions  riven, 

They  strove  to  humble,  blacken  and  malign, 
A  soul  whose  charities  were  wide  as  Heaven, 

Whose  deeds,  if  not  his  doctrines,  were  divine  ; 
And  in  the  name  of  HIM,  whose  sunshine  warms 

The  evil  as  the  righteous,  deemed  it  good 
To  wreak  their  bigotry's  relentless  storms 

On  one  whose  nature  was  not  understood. 
Ah  !  well !  God's  ways  are  wondrous,  —  it  may  be 

His  seal  hath  not  been  set  to  man's  decree. 


46  SONNETS. 


OCTOBER. 

THE  passionate  Summer 's  dead !  the  sky  's  a-glow, 
With  roseate  flushes  of  matured  desire, 

The  winds  at  eve  are  musical  and  low, 
As  sweeping  chords  of  a  lamenting  lyre, 
Far  up  among  the  pillared  clouds  of  fire, 

Whose  pomp  of  strange  procession  upward  rolls, 

With  gorgeous  blazonry  of  pictured  folds, 
To  celebrate  the  Summer's  past  renown  ; 
Ah,  me  !  how  regally  the  Heavens  look  down, 

O'ershadowing  beautiful  autumnal  woods, 

And  harvest  fields  with  hoarded  increase  brown, 

And  deep-toned  majesty  of  golden  floods, 
That  raise  their  solemn  dirges  to  the  sky, 
To  swell  the  purple  pomp  that  floateth  by. 


SONNETS.  47 


TO 


BELOVED  !  in  this  holy  hush  of  night, 

I  know  that  thou  art  looking  to  the  South, 
Thy  alabaster  brow  bathed  in  the  light 

Of  tender  Heavens,  and  o'er  thy  delicate  mouth 
A  dewy  gladness  from  thy  dark  eyes  shed  ; 
O  !  eloquent  eyes,  that  on  the  evening  spread 
The  glory  of  a  radiant  world  of  dreams, 

(The  inner  moonlight  of  the  soul  that  dims 
This  moonlight  of  the  sense,)  and  o'er  thy  head, 

Thrown  back,  as  listening  to  a  voice  of  hymns, 
Perchance  in  thine  own  spirit,  violet  gleams 

From  modest  flowers  that  deck  the  window-bars, 
While  the  Winds  sigh,  and  sing  the  far-off  streams, 

And  a  faint  bliss  seems  dropping  from  the  Stars. 


43  SO.NNETS. 


II. 

O  !  pour  thy  inmost  soul  upon  the  Air, 

And  trust  to  Heaven  the  secrets  that  recline 
In  the  sweet  nunnery  of  thy  virgin  breast ; 

Speak  to  the  Winds  that  wander  everywhere,  — 
And  sure  must  wander  hither  —  the  divine 
Contentment,  and  the  infinite,  deep  rest 

That  sway  thy  passionate  being,  and  lift  high 

To  the  calm  realm  of  Love's  Eternity, 

The  passive  Ocean  of  thy  charmed  Thought ; 

And  tell  the  Ariel  element  to  bear 

The  burden  of  thy  whispered  heart  to  me, 
By  Faiiy  alchemy  of  distance  wrought 

To  something  sacred  as  a  saintly  prayer, 
A  spell  to  set  my  nobler  nature  free. 


LINES.  49 


LINES. 

LOVE  !  a  life-long  mist  of  sorrow, 
Lifted  from  my  pathway  now, 
Not  a  cloud  remains  in  shadow, 
On  my  heart,  or  on  my  brow  ; 
Crowned  by  thee,  imperial  Passion 
Thrills  all  space  with  starry  light, 
And  our  misery's  baffled  demons, 
Vanish  with  the  waning  night. 

'Neath  the  rays  of  this  new  Splendor, 
Drooping  hopes  like  flowers  expand, 
And  my  soul  is  wild  with  music, 
Fainting  from  Elysian-land  ; 
Scarcely  can  the  Angels  hymning 
Praise,  where  Bliss  and  Glory  meet, 
Utter  by  the  streams  of  Adenne 
Strains  more  solemn  and  more  sweet. 


50  LINES. 

Solemn  !  for  they  come  a  prelude 
To  the  strife,  where  still  we  may 
Keep  our  spirits  white  and  blameless, 
As  in  life's  auroral  day  ; 
Sweet !  because  they  murmur  gently, 
Like  a  voice  whose  silver  tone 
Falls  as  fall  the  shaded  fountains, 
In  the  wild-woods,  dim  and  lone. 

Dost  thou  ask  me  if  I  love  thee  ? 
Ay  !  with  love  our  God  hath  given, 
Strong  to  scorn  man's  false  conventions, 
Saintly,  like  the  love  in  Heaven  : 
Do  I  love  thee  ?  —  ah  !  divinest, 
Human  language  faints  and  dies, 
While  the  pale  lips  strive  to  falter 
What  speaks  only  in  the  eyes. 

There  are  solemn  depths  of  Passion, 
Whose  divine,  sonorous  roll, 
Maketh  Passion's  self  to  ponder, 
Listening  to  her  own  great  soul  ; 
Depths,  undiscovered,  untranslated, 
Tremulous  as  a  voice  of  tears, 
But  sublime  as  that  high  chorus, 
Pealing  from  the  march  of  spheres. 


LINES.  51 


Come,  Beloved  !  clasp  me  closer, 

Let  me  feel  thy  faithful  breast, 

Panting  with  a  tropic  rapture, 

Sinking  to  a  tranced  rest ; 

Sit  we  here  with  amorous  Twilight 

Broken  into  dusky  bars, 

And  a  chastened  shower  of  glory 

Raining  round  us  from  the  stars. 


52  EXTRACT    FROM   AN 


EXTRACT  FROM  AN  UNFINISHED  POEM   CALLED  THE 
•  SOUL  UNBOUND.' 


THE  passionate  sobs  of  the  dear  friends  that  came 

To  look  their  last  upon  my  living  frame, 

And  catch  the  fainting  accents  of  my  breath, 

That  fluttered  in  the  Atmosphere  of  death, 

Were  hushed  to  silence,  —  and  the  uncertain  light, 

That  flickered  o'er  the  arras  to  my  sight, 

Grew  paler  and  more  tremulous,  as  Life 

Sunk  'neath  the  power  of  that  unequal  strife, 

Which  pits  humanity  against  the  spell 

Of  the  most  awful  Chamberlain  of  Hell. 

I  could  not  see  my  foe  :  but  the  whole  space 
Was  redolent  of  pestilence,  and  grace 
Of  all  things  beautiful,  and  grand  and  free, 
Seemed  lost  in  darkness  evermore  to  me,  — 


UNFINISHED    POEM.  53 

I  struggled  with  the  invisible  arm,  that  wound 
So  sternly  round  me,  but  could  give  no  sound 
To  the  great  agony  that  whelmed  my  soul 
In  surges  blacker  than  the  eternal  roll 
Of  a  world's  waters,  thundering  round  the  Pole. 

Downward  —  still  downward  —  the  relentless  hand 

Pressed  on  my  being,  and  the  ron  wand 

Of  a  grim,  dread  enchantment,  struck  my  heart, 

With  a  dull  force  that  made  the  life-blood  start 

Forever  from  its  courses  :  then  a  sense 

Of  coming  rest,  more  dreamless  and  intense 

Than  ever  wrapped  mortality,  in  still 

And  throbless  freedom  from  the  thoughts  of  ill, 

Stole  o'er  the  vanquished  form  and  glimmering  sight, 

Till  Silence  ruled,  with  Nothingness  and  Night. 


54  THE    PORTRAIT. 


THE  PORTRAIT. 

THE  laughing  Hours  before  her  feet, 

And  scattering  spring-time  roses, 

And  the  voices  in  her  soul  are  sweet 

As  Music's  mellowed  closes  ; 

All  Hopes  and  Passions,  heavenly-born, 

In  her,  have  met  together, 

And  Joy  diffuses  round  her  morn 

A  mist  of  golden  weather. 

As  o'er  her  cheek  of  delicate  dyes, 
The  blooms  of  childhood  hover, 
So  do  the  tranced,  and  sinless  eyes, 
All  childhood's  heart  discover  ; 
Full  of  a  dreamy  happiness, 
With  rainbow  fancies  laden, 
Whose  arch  of  promise  glows  to  bless 
Her  spirit's  beauteous  Adenne. 


THE    PORTRAIT.  55 

She  is  a  being  born  to  raise 

Those  undefiled  emotions, 

That  link  us  with  our  sunniest  days, 

And  most  sincere  devotions  ; 

In  her,  we  see  renewed  and  bright, 

That  phase  of  earthly  story, 

Which  glimmers  in  the  morning  light, 

Of  God's  exceeding  glory. 

Why,  in  a  life  of  mortal  cares, 

Appear  these  heavenly  faces, 

Why,  on  the  verge  of  darkened  years, 

These  amaranthine  graces? 

'T  is  but  to  cheer  the  soul  that  faints 

With  pure  and  blest  evangels, 

To  prove,  if  Heaven  is  rich  with  Saints, 

That  Earth  may  have  her  Angels. 

Enough  !  't  is  not  for  me  to  pray 
That  on  her  life's  sweet  river, 
The  calmness  of  a  virgin  day 
May  rest,  and  rest  forever ; 
I  know  a  guardian  Genius  stands 
Beside  those  waters  lowly, 
And  labors  with  immortal  hands 
To  keep  them  pure  and  holy. 


56  THE  ISLES  OF  THE  BLEST. 


THE  ISLES  OF  THE  BLEST. 

the  sparkling  waves  of  the  distant  West, 
Where  the  sun  sinks  down  to  his  evening  rest, 
And  his  parting  beams  on  the  waters  play, 
God's  visible  smile  from  the  courts  of  day, 
O  !  never  beheld  by  mortal  eyes, 
A  cloudless  and  beautiful  country  lies  — 

That  unknown  land  !  It  sometimes  seems 
In  the  marvellous  faith  of  my  mystic  dreams, 
That  I  tread  its  shores  of  gradual  slope, 
And  drink  the  joy  of  a  nameless  hope, 
Entranced  with  the  magic  of  birds,  whose  lay, 
Like  the  voices  of  angels  far  away, 
Floats  ever  on  wings  of  the  charmed  breeze, 
From  the  roseate  heights,  and  the  woodland  leas, 
And  thrilled  with  the  flash  of  plumes  that  rise 
In  purple  sweep  to  the  tranquil  skies. 


THE  ISLES  OF  THE  BLEST.  57 

O,  joy  !  to  walk  on  the  blossoming  wolds, 
While  the  heart  of  the  shadowy  wood  unfolds, 
Where  the  Hamadryad  is  wont  to  dwell, 
And  oreads  bound  through  the  bosky  dell, 
And  the  music  of  pipes  that  are  low  and  sweet, 
Steals  gently  after  the  Dreamer's  feet. 

O,  joy !  to  pause  by  the  lake's  green  side, 
And  gaze  adown  in  the  crystal  tide, 
Where  Nai'ads  twine  their  golden  hair, 
In  a  depth  of  waters,  calm  and  fair, 
And  the  winds  mysterious  murmurs  bear 
From  a  viewless  host  in  the  halls  of  "Air, 
That  sound  as  the  silver  rain  of  rills,   . 
From  the  dreamy  deeps  of  the  heavenly  hills. 

Ever  do  mild-eyed  Memories  throng, 
To  that  radiant  realm  of  bloom  and  song, 
I  inhale  the  sweets  of  ungathered  flowers, 
The  blended  balm  of  a  thousand  bowers, 
Loading  the  sighs  of  the  languid  Hours,  — 
And  a  veil  of  trance,  serene  and  deep, 
Enfolds  my  life  like  an  Eden  sleep. 


58  THE  ISLES  OF  THE  BLEST. 

When  a  saintly  Faith  hath  plumed  her  flight 

To  a  Mount  of  Visions'  awful  height, 

I  have  traced,  in  that  shadowy  clime  of  bliss, 

The  forms  beloved  of  my  soul  in  this  ; 

Eyes  that  had  broken  my  peace  in  youth, 

Come  back  with  the  warm,  deep  light  of  truth, 

Eloquent  eyes  of  a  grand,  calm  ray, 

For  Passion  and  Pride  have  lost  their  sway, 

Earthly  feeling  hath  passed  away, 

Save  the  still  delight  of  its  nobler  part, 

The  deathless  love  of  a  trustful  heart. 

'T  is  sweet  to  know,  when  the  world  grows  cold, 
And  the  years  of  a  wearisome  life  are  told, 
When  the  thin  blood  courseth  chill  and  slow, 
And  the  soul'is  o'ershadowed  with  heavy  wo, 
That  the  Pilgrim  of  earth  may  find  a  rest, 
In  the  far-off  seas  of  the  golden  West, 
The  beautiful  Isles  of  the  ever-blest. 


THE    CATARACT. 


THE  CATARACT. 

BY     DAY. 

THIS  solemn  warfare  of  mysterious  waves, 

This  sobbing  gush  of  a  Titanic  grief, 

The  earth's  great  heart  unto  the  listening  winds, 

Hath  wailed  forth  through  the  awed  Eternities, 

Whose  wings  have  shuddered  o'er  it  as  they  past 

From  multitudinous  fountains  in  the  depths 

Of  cavernous  glooms,  roll  the  exhaustless  floods, 

Thence  startled  in  some  immemorial  shock 

Of  earthquake  and  of  tempest,  some  dread  strife 

Of  orb  with  orb  in  the  black  void  of  Heaven, 

When  ocean-tides  rushed  over  Continents, 

And  mountains  tottered  to  chaotic  fall, 

And  the  majestic  roar  of  elements 

Shook  the  crazed  Air,  and  the  affrighted  Space 

Quivered  beneath  the  burden  of  the  blast. 


60  THE    CATARACT. 

The  vexed  waters  whirled  from  bursting  veins, 
That  coursed  the  tortured  world's  disruptured  frame, 
Hissing  their  separate  fury  on  the  storm,  — 

The  weaker  fountains,  and  mild  cataracts, 

Lessened  their  flow,  the  green  wolds  bloomed  once 

more, 

But  unrestrained  this  universe  of  tides, 
With  voice  of  warning  and  of  prophecy, 
Speaks  to  us  of  what  hath  been,  and  may  le. 

From  the  reverberant  Hell  that  groans  below, 
Ev'n  from  that  Hell  tumultuous  floats  to  Heaven, 
The  balmy  incense  of  the  Beautiful ; 
Empurpled  mists  the  sunshine  woos  to  glory, 
Mounting,  like  ransomed  souls,  to  the  GREAT  SOUL, 
And  lost  in  grand  beatitudes  of  light. 


THE    CATAKACT.  61 


BY     NIGHT. 

Lo  !  the  calm  Moon  !    She  cometh  like  a  saint, 
To  charm  the  passionate  turmoil  into  rest, 
Till  to  the  sense  of  airy  phantasy, 
The  pealing  surges  struggle  with  strange  awe, 
Pierced  by  the  effluence  of  the  rainbow-span, 
That  girds  the  Thunderer  with  an  arch  of  tears. 

Those  heavenly  beams,  so  eloquently  fair, 
Shine  on  the  frenzied,  maddening  mass  beneath, 
Like  the  ineffable  pity  in  the  eyes 
Of  the  disowned  and  melancholy  Christ, 
When,  from  the  Ruler's  Porch,  he  mutely  looked 
On  the  blaspheming  crew  that  cursed  his  love, 
In  the  thronged  streets  of  doomed  Jerusalem. 


62  A   FRAGMENT. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

A  FARIE  soul  wafted  by  God's  own  breath, 

And  fluttering  from  his  Paradise  of  light, 

Paused  on  the  earth  not  many  lustra  since  ; 

The  soul  was  spotless  as  the  angels  are, 

And  its  fair  being  thrilled  yet  with  the  touch 

Of  the  immortal  ringers,  as  they  clasped 

Its  whiteness,  glistening  in  eternity. 

It  struck  a  thrill  of  hope  in  happy  hearts, 

That  beat  to  the  blest  melodies  of  home, 

And  seemed  to  add  to  the  sweet  household  chords, 

(Whose  voice  is  the  true  music  of  the  world,) 

A  golden  string  brought  from  a  harp  in  heaven. 

But  things  from  God  grow  darkened  with  a  blight 
Whene'er  they  fall  on  the  sin-blasted  earth  — 
The  soul  that  trembled  into  a  strange  life, 
All  dumb  from  the  great  glory  of  the  Throne, 


A   FRAGMENT.  63 

Hath  trod  the  ways,  and  speaks  the  tongue  of  man  ; 
Hath  lost  the  mute,  deep  reverence,  that  hung 
Like  a  celestial  atmosphere  of  prayer 
Round  the  pale  purity  just  born  in  heaven  ; 
And  the  bright  home  o'er  which  the  Cherubim 
Chaunted  soft  anthems,  hath  Decay  enforced 
To  be  the  wanton  of  all  winds  that  blow  : 
The  pillar,  and  the  pride  of  that  charmed  sphere, 
The  strong  Corinthian  column  crowned  with  grace, 
Fell  like  a  green  young  monarch  of  the  woods, 
Struck  by  a  sudden  whirlwind  ;  and  the  dove, 
The  innocent  dove,  that  brooded  in  its  shade, 
And  clung  to  the  deep  shelter  of  its  arms, 
Hath  fluttered  wounded  to  the  dreary  earth, 
And  mourns  the  tenement  that  moulders  near. 

Such  are  thy  works,  0  Fate  !  and  such  thy  will : 
Thou  art  a  Tyrant  absolute  in  power, 
But  for  a  righteous  purpose  ;  God  hath  thrown 
The  burden  of  his  judgments  in  thy  hand, 
To  blast  the  pride  of  our  humanity ; 
But  in  the  far-off  systems  of  the  blest, 
The  cycles  that  are  endless  as  their  £ing, 
Fate  !  the  mysterious  Conqueror  of  the  Past, 
The  Present's  incubus,  the  Future's  storm, 


64  A    FRAGMENT. 

Shorn  of  his  gloominess,  and  freed  from  ties 
Of  the  dark  regency  that  God  had  given, 
Will  walk  a  glad  immortal  in  the  light 
Of  happier  constellations,  —  even  now, 
Oftimes,  beneath  his  habitude  of  hate, 
We  see  the  angel  glory  gleaming  through. 


LINES.  65 


LINES. 

A  TENDER  word  outspoken, 

A  tender  glance  returned, 

And  thoughtless  peace  was  broken, 

And  quenchless  passion  burned. 

Thenceforth,  forever  after, 
Shadows  filled  her  eyes, 
And  a  low,  sad  laughter, 
Like  the  sweet  uprise 
Of  melodious  fountains 
'Mid  the  Elf-land  mountains, 
Fell  from  her,  in  seeming 
Of  enraptured  dreaming, 
Caught  from  tranced  skies. 

How  the  holy  story, 

Her  deep  heart's  mystery, 

Like  a  chastened  glory, 


66  LINES. 

Beautiful  to  see, 
Shone  forth,  softly,  faintly, 
With  a  radiance  saintly, 
From  each  pensive  feature  — 
[Oh  !  divinest  Nature, 
Once  bound  up  in  me  !] 

Well  do  I  remember 

That  fair  Italian  face, 

But  a  drear  December 

Hath  eclipsed  its  grace  ; 

December  of  the  stormy  scorn, 

Of  folly  and  of  madness  born, 

That  season  of  infuriate  weather, 

When  Love  and  Hope  went  down  together. 


SUNSET.  67 


SUNSET. 

THERE  is  a  solemn  pomp  along  the  Heaven, 
That  deepens  in  the  sunset ;  Day  hath  drawn 
A  host  of  bannered  glories  round  his  path, 
And  sinks,  defying  Darkness,  with  a  crown, 
Whose  light  should  be  immortal,  and  the  robe, 
The  gorgeous  robe  of  his  imperial  state, 
Spread  with  a  purple  splendor  round  his  fall. 

He  dies  as  monarch  hearts  alone  can  die, 
Unconquered  to  the  last :  the  clouds  that  clung 
Around  his  pathway  all  this  dreary  morn, 
Dispart  at  length,  and  through  the  breathless  air, 
The  vast  vault  of  this  firmament  of  peace, 
They  that  had  veiled  his  brightness,  share  his  light, 
The  wide  light  of  his  proud,  majestic  eyes, 
And  what  before  was  worthless,  takes  the  hues, 
That  mount  an  arch  of  triumph  in  the  skies. 


68  SUNSET. 

Ah  !  thus  it  is  with  Genius  !  —  when  the  flame 
Wanes  to  its  setting,  and  the  envious  clouds, 
That  Wrong,  and  Falsehood,  Treachery,  and  Hate, 
Raised  to  obscure  it,  can  no  more  withstand 
The  grand  blaze  of  its  concentrated  power, 
They  part,  like  billows  from  a  prow  of  gold, 
And  awe-struck  by  the  greatness  of  their  sin, 
Only  survive,  because  the  master-fire 
Darts  such  an  universal  radiance  round, 
That  they  lie  blushing  in  that  glorious  smile, 
Whose  scorn  is  mightier  than  its  death  is  sad. 


LINES.  69 


LINES. 

THIS  is  the  place  —  I  pray  thee,  friend, 
Leave  me  alone  with  that  dread  GRIEF, 
Whose  raven  wings  o'erarch  the  grave, 
Closed  on  a  life  how  sad  and  brief. 

Already  the  young  violets  bloom 
On  the  light  sod  that  shrouds  her  form, 
And  Summer's  awful  sunshine  strikes 
Incongruous  on  the  spirit's  storm. 

She  died,  and  did  not  know  that  I, 
Whose  heart  is  breaking  in  this  gloom, 
Had  shrined  her  love,  as  pilgrims  shrine 
A  blossom  from  some  saintly  tomb. 

And  ah  !  indeed  it  was  a  tomb, 
The  tomb  of  Hope,  so  ghastly-gray, 
Whence  sprung  that  flower  of  love  that  graw 
Serenely  on  the  Hope's  decay  ; 


LINES. 

A  pallid  flower  that  bloomed  alone, 
With  no  warm  light  to  keep  it  fair, 
But  nurtured  by  the  tears  that  fell, 
Ev'n  from  the  clouds  of  our  despair  — 

She  perished,  and  her  patient  soul 
Passed  to  God's  rest,  nor  did  she  know 
I  kept  the  faith,  —  we  could  not  plight 
In  honor,  or  in  peace  below. 

But  Edith  !  now,  all,  all  is  clear, 
You  see  the  flame  of  that  fierce  fate, 
Which  blazed  between  my  life,  and  yours, 
And  left  both  —  desolate. 

And  well  you  comprehend  that  now 
My  heart  is  breaking  where  I  stand, 
But  'mid  the  ruin,  shrines  its  faith, 
A  relic  from  love's  Holy  Land. 


STANZAS.  71 


STANZAS. 

TO   J.    S. 

WHEN  Darkness  encompassed  my  senses  and  soul, 
And  the  breath  of  the  Pestilence  over  me  stole, 
When  the  eyes  of  the  Fearful  looked  misty  and  dim, 
When  Love  breathed  a  prayer,  and  Devotion  a  hymn, 
When  the  clouds  of  the  Present  around  me  unfurled, 
And  my  glance  like  a  spirit's  was  turned  from  the  world ; 
There  was  One,  and  scarce  less  than  a  spirit  was  she, 
Whose  smile  fell  upon  me  like  light  on  the  sea  — 
And  bore  back  the  waves  of  my  fate  as  they  rolled, 
Where  Eternity's  Day-star  just  bathed  them  in  gold. 

All  else  were  desponding  —  all  else  were  in  tears  ; 
From  beneath  me  seemed  gliding  the  Threshold  of  years, 
A  rest  —  as  of  death  brooded  sad  o'er  the  room, 
And  the  low  air  was  heavy  with  sickly  perfume  ; 


72  STANZAS. 

The  Destroyer's  wan  sceptre  o'ershadowed  my  heart, 
And  I  thought  that  the  Angels  stood  gazing  apart, 
And  signed  me  to  come,  but  an  Angel  more  dear, 
All  bright  with  mortality's  sweetness,  was  near, 
And  I  turned  from  the  beauty  of  Adenne  to  see, 
Life,  Hope,  and  Passion,  brought  earthward  by  thee. 


LIXES.  73 


LINES. 

WILT  thou  come  hither,  gentlest  fair, 
And  lift  thy  soft  blue  eyes  to  mine  ? 
The  quiet  smile  that  gleameth  there, 
Wells  upward  from  the  fountain,  where 
All  fresh  young  fancies  shine. 

The  fountain  of  unsullied  light, 

Which  sparkles  in  each  human  soul, 
Ere  Passion's  pestilential  blight 
Falls  with  the  blackness  of  the  night, 
Where  those  sweet  waters  roll. 

With  what  a  calm  regardfulness, 

Thy  tender  eyes  do  watch  my  own, 
No  shadowy  portend  of  distress, 
Cometh  to  make  their  joyance  less, 
Soon  to  be  overblown. 
5 


74  LINES. 


Better  those  delicate  limbs  should  sleep 

Beneath  the  emerald  burial  sod, 
Ere  wo  hath  taught  thine  eyes  to  weep  — 
If  thus  the  heart  secures  the  deep 
Eternal  peace  of  God. 

Mournfullest  of  the  mournful  things, 

That  raise  our  sighs,  and  move  our  tears, 
Is  innocence,  that  earthward  brings 
The  semblance  of  angelic  wings, 

To  drop  like  leaves  in  Autumn  years. 

Then  Father !  summon  to  the  blest 

Embracement  of  thy  love  in  Heaven, 
This  meek  soul,  ere  the  world's  unrest, 
And  passionate  sins  do  stand  confest, 
So  broadly,  they  be  scarce  forgiven. 


THE    REALM    OF    REST.  75 


THE  REALM  OF  REST. 

WITHIN  the  realm  that  Nature  boundeth, 
Are  there  balmy  shores  of  peace, 
Where  no  passion-torrent  soundeth, 
And  no  storm-wind  seeks  release  ? 
Rest  they  'mid  the  waters  golden, 
Of  some  strange  untravelled  sea, 
Where  low,  Halcyon  winds  have  stolen, 
Lingering  round  them  slumbrously  ? 

Shores  begirt  by  purple  hazes, 
Varying  with  pale,  mellowed  beams, 
Whose  dim  curtains  shroud  the  mazes, 
Wandering  through  a  realm  of  dreams  ; 
Shores,  where  Silence  woos  Devotion, 
Action  faints,  and  Echo  dies, 
And  each  peace-entranced  emotion 
Feeds  on  quiet  mysteries. 


76  THE    REALM    OF    EEST. 

If  there  be,  O  !  guardian  Master, 
Genius  of  my  life  and  fate, 
Bear  me  from  the  world's  disaster, 
'Through  that  Kingdom's  shadowy  gate  ; 
Xiet  me  rest  beneath  its  willows, 
On  the  fragrant,  flowering  strand, 
Lulled  to  sleep  by  murmurous  billows, 
Thrilled  with  airs  of  Elfin-land. 

Slumber,  flushed  with  faintest  dreamings  ; 
Deep  that  knows  no  answering  deep, 
Unprofaned  by  phantom-seemings, 
Which  but  leave  the  soul  to  weep  ; 
Noiseless,  timeless,  half  forgetting ; 
May  that  sleep  Elysian  be, 
Whilst  yet  heavenlier  tides  are  setting, 
Inward,  from  the  roseate  sea. 

Soft  to  mine  a  voice  is  calling, 
Sweet  as  music-winds  at  night, 
Gently  sighing,  faintly  falling 
From  some  wondrous,  mystic  height, 
And  it  gives  my  soul  assurance, 
Of  the  land  I  long  to  know, 
Nerving  to  a  fresh  endurance, 
'Neath  the  present  weight  of  wo. 


THE    REALM    OF    REST.  77 

'  There  's  a  Realm,  thy  footsteps  nearing,1 
[Thus  the  voice  to  mine  replies,] 
'  Where  the  heavy  heart's  despairing 
Gains  its  rest,  and  stops  its  sighs  ; 
'T  is  a  realm,  imperial,  stately, 
Refuge  of  dethroned  Years, 
Calm  as  Midnight,  towering  greatly, 
Through  a  moonlit  mist  of  tears. 

'  Though  an  Empire,  freedom  reigneth, 
Kingly  brow,  and  subject  knee, 
Each  with  what  to  each  pertaineth, 
Slumbering  in  equality ; 
'T  is  a  sleep,  divorced  from  dreamings, 
Deep  that  knows  no  answering  deep, 
Unprofaned  by  phantom-seemings  — 
Noiseless,  wondrous,  timeless  sleep. 

'  On  its  shores  are  weeping  willows, 
Action  faints,  and  Echo  dies, 
And  the  languid  dirge  of  billows, 
Lulls  with  opiate  symphonies  ; 
But  beside  that  murmurous  Ocean 
All  who  rest,  repose  in  sooth, 
And  no  more  the  stilled  emotion 
Stirs  to  joy,  or  wakens  ruth. 


78  THE    REALM    OF    REST. 

'  Thou  shall  gain  these  blest  dominions, 
Thou  shall  find  this  peaceful  ground, 
Shaded  by  Oblivion's  pinions, 
Startled  by  no  mortal  sound  ; 
Noiseless,  timeless,  ALL  forgetting, 
Shall  thy  sleep  Elysian  be, 
Whilst  eternal  tides  are  setting 
Inward  from  that  mystic  sea.' 


LINES.  79 


LINES. 

THOU  !  who  hast  wakened  secret  springs, 
Deep  in  the  verdure  of  my  soul, 
And  stirred  on  many  a  fairy  knoll, 
In  its  dim  shadows,  purple  wings 

Of  new,  and  fresh  Desires,  that  rise, 
Like  eagles  to  the  morning  sun, 
Thrilled  with  the  hope  to  look  upon 
The  splendor  of  the  inner  skies  ; 

Thy  wondrous  being,  fair  and  good, 
Revolves  before  me  in  the  might 
Of  music,  and  the  tender  light 
Of  consummated  womanhood. 

As  wandering  orbs  that  meet  in  space, 
Our  spirits  met,  their  wild  career, 
Transformed  in  the  homeless  air 
To  circles  of  eternal  grace. 


80  LINES. 

And  each  renewed  in  bliss  to  move, 
And  each  rejoicing  to  have  met 
A  world  of  such  sweet  glory  set, 
In  so  divine  a  Heaven  of  love. 

O  !  Souls !  that  breathe  in  mutual  light, 
Which,  if  divided  or  withdrawn, 
Would  leave  indeed  a  doubtful  dawn, 
More  dreary  than  the  dreariest  night. 

Give  us  your  subtlest  sympathy, 
For  ours,  that  intellectual  life, 
Which  blends  even  dissonance  and  strife 
Tnto  majestic  harmony. 

Through  this  charmed  sphere  to  pass  with  thee, 
Where  Truth  and  Beauty  wedded  are, 
And  rounded  to  a  silver  star, 
Poised  on  its  own  Eternity  ; 

Is  all  I  ask,  or  hope,  or  dream, 
More  can  a  mortal  life-time  yield  ? 
A  foresight  of  an  ampler  field, 
Outspread,  where  nobler  glories  gleam. 


LINES.  81 


LINES. 


[Written  on  Christmas-day,  1853,  which  fell  upon  the  Sabbath.] 

MYSTERY  of  mysteries !  on  this  holy  morn, 
The  Prince  of  an  eternal  realm  of  love, 
The  Godhead  veiled,  in  lowliest  guise  was  born, 
While  the  far  heavenly  music  pealed  above. 

Triumph  of  triumphs  !  this  auspicious  day, 
The  stern  earth-agony  subdued,  and  fled, 
Beheld  the  dawn  of  his  immortal  sway, 
The  glorious  resurrection  from  the  dead. 

In  the  long  cycles  that  the  years  have  run, 
The  course  of  their  majestical  advance, 
Hath  merged  with  solemn  wedlock  into  one, 
These  sacred  days'  sublime  significance. 


82  LINES. 

The  birth  that  oped  to  man  the  heavenly  gate, 
And  gave  far  glimpses  of  supernal  light, 
The  glory  of  that  distant,  fair  estate, 
Faded  so  long  from  his  despondent  sight ; 

That  birth  was  marvellous  !  but  strange  and  grand, 
More  strange  and  grand  was  the  great  Conqueror's  rise 
From  the  dim  confines  of  the  shadowy  land, 
Whose  gloom  had  palsied  faith,  and  dimmed  the  skies. 

Thus  did  the  mortal  learn  immortal  trust, 
Spurn  the  base  ends  for  which  his  soul  had  striven, 
Shake  from  his  garment  earth's  degrading  dust, 
And  hail  a  home  and  brotherhood  in  Heaven. 


IMAGINATION    AND    MEMOKV.  83 


IMAGINATION  AND  MEMORY. 

IMAGINATION  is  a  God,  who  calls 
Great  globes  of  grandeur  into  golden  light 
From  the  dim  desolation  of  the  Night  — 
Who  from  incongruous  chaos  draws  the  law 
Of  order  and  completeness,  and  the  awe 
Of  whose  benignant  Beauty  fills  the  world  ; 
But  Christ-like  Memory  stands  within  the  halls 
Of  the  sepulchral  Past  —  which  at  the  dread, 
Deep  summons  of  that  voice,  gives  up  its  dead. 


84  ON 


ON 


THY  cheek  hath  lost  its  happy  flush  and  bloom, 

Thine  eye  its  light; 
And  the  fresh  fragrance  of  life's  flowery  morn, 

Alas  !  hath  vanished  quite  : 

Pale  the  sweet  garden,  where  a  season  since 

The  rose  did  blow  ; 
And  haunted  only  by  a  tender  shade, 

A  flitting,  ghostly  glow  : 

Solemn  and  spiritual,  and  very  sad, 

Like  the  far  smile 
That  beams  from  the  Madonna's  face  divine, 

In  some  dim  convent  aisle. 

The  Earth  to  thee  smiles  only  from  her  tombs  - 

Thou  standest  lone, 
Where  in  thy  darkened,  and  o'erclouded  path, 

Expiring  joys  are  strewn  : 


ON .  85 

Joys  that  have  withered  suddenly  and  dropped 

From  stately  stems 
Of  thy  green  Hopes,  once  beautiful,  and  crowned 

With  dewy  diadems : 

And  standing  there  all  desolate,  and  lorn, 

Thy  spirit  grieves, 
As  grieve  the  winds  of  Autumn,  at  the  fall 

Of  Summer's  wealth  of  leaves. 

I  gaze  upon  thy  face,  serene  and  fixed, 

Pallid  and  calm ; 
Tranced  with  a  vision  of  the  land  of  rest, 

The  Pilgrim's  conquering  palm. 

Yet  sometimes,  turned  from  glory,  thy  sad  soul 

Dissolves  in  tears — 
When,  like  a  loosened  Falcon,  Memory  mounts 

Thy  Heaven  of  youthful  years. 

Thy  far-off  Heaven  of  vanished  years  and  youth, 

Where  past  delights 
Shine  in  cold  distance,  like  the  freezing  stars 

Of  the  pale  Arctic  nights. 


86 


Fading,  and  oh  !  how  faint  and  desolate, 

Thy  form  doth  seem, 
And  hour  by  hour  thy  wan  face  waxeth  dim, 

And  shadowy  as  a  dream. 

The  dream  will  melt  from  our  horizon  soon, 

In  higher  skies, 
Already  meanings,  mystical  and  strange, 

Float  in  thine  eyes. 

And  through  those  gentle  lights,  thy  gentler  soul 

Too  well  I  know, 
Is  passing  up  in  dimness  and  in  tears 

From  mortal  wrong  and  wo. 


MY    FATHER.  87 


MY  FATHER. 

MY  FATHER  !  in  the  mist-enshrouded  Past, 

My  boyish  thoughts  have  wandered  o'er  and  o'er 
To  thy  lone  grave  upon  a  distant  shore, 

The  wanderer  of  the  waters,  still  at  last. 

Never  in  boyhood  have  I  blithely  sprung 

To  catch  my  father's  voice,  or  climb  his  knee  ; 
He  was  a  constant  Pilgrim  of  the  sea, 

And  died  upon  it  when  his  boy  was  young. 

He  perished  not  in  conflict  nor  in  flame, 
No  laurel  garland  rests  upon  his  tomb ; 
Wild  were  his  days,  and  clouded  was  his  doom, 

Brief  was  his  life,  forgotten  is  his  name. 

Yet  have  I  shrined  his  memory  in  my  mind, 
Yet  have  I  wrought  his  image  on  my  soul  — 
Though  fancy-painted,  a  most  perfect  whole 

Of  sweet  conceptions,  deep,  though  dim-defined. 


88 


MY    FATHER. 


His  careless  bearing,  and  his  manly  face, 

His  frank,  bold  eye,  his  stern  and  stalworth  form 
Fitted  to  breast  the  fight,  the  wreck,  the  storm ; 

The  sailor's  nonchalance,  the  soldier's  grace. 

In  dreams,  in  dreams  we  've  mingled,  and  a  swell 
Of  feeling  mightier  for  the  eye's  eclipse, 
The  music  of  a  blest  Apocalypse, 

Hath  murmured  through  my  spirit,  like  a  spell. 

Ah,  then !  oftimes  a  sadder  scene  will  rise, 
A  gallant  vessel  through  the  mist-bound  day, 
Lifting  her  spectral  spars  above  the  bay, 

Swayed  gloomily  against  the  glimmering  skies. 

O'er  the  dim  billows  thundering,  peals  a  boom 
Of  the  deep  gun  that  bursteth  as  a  knell, 
When  the  brave  tender  to  the  brave  farewell  — 

And  strong  arms  bear  a  comrade  to  the  tomb. 
****** 

The  opened  sod  :  a  sorrowing  band  beside  — 
One  rattling  roll  of  musketry,  and  then, 
A  man  no  more  among  his  fellow-men, 

Darkness  his  chamber,  and  the  earth  his  bride^, 


.MY   FATHER.  89 

My  father  sleeps  in  peace  ;  perchance  more  blest 
Than  some  he  left  to  mourn  him,  and  to  know 
The  bitter  blight  of  an  enduring  wo, 

Longing  (how  oft !)  with  him,  to  be  at  rest. 

She  whom  his  love  sustained,  the  widowed  one, 
Is  living  still,  but  all  her  promised  years 
Have  floated  o'er  a  gloomy  gulf  of  tears, 

Illumined  not  by  starlight,  nor  by  sun. 

And  7,  who  should  have  been  her  age's  stay, 

Strewing  the  mourner's  rugged  road  with  flowers, 
The  music  of  her  life's  declining  hours  — 

1  have  but  darkened  all  her  desolate  way. 

And  now  I  know  the  Pilgrim's  path  is  trod  ; 
A  season  more,  and  the  celestial  Gate 
Will  open  for  her,  where  the  angels  wait, 

To  bear  the  '  heavy  laden '  up  to  God. 

And  when  thou  goest,  sweet  mother  !  and  the  gleams 
From  sapphire  thrones  are  round  thy  footsteps  spread ; 
When  the  last  offspring  of  thy  Grief  is  dead, 

Plead  for  me  there,  by  the  Eternal  streams  :  — 

6 


90  MY    FATHER. 

For  it  may  be  a  stronger,  purer  light, 

From  the  far  confines  of  that  saintly  clime, 
Shall  pour  upon  the  dreary  paths  of  time, 

And  the  wronged  human  heart  be  judged  aright. 

Then,  hand  in  hand  with  Him,  thy  spirit's  Lord, 
Thine  earthly  lever,  and  thy  heavenly  friend, 
Will  the  Immortal  for  the  Mortal  bend, 

And  pray  I  too  may  share  thy  great  reward. 


THE    GOLDEN    AGE.  91 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE. 


1  Saturn,  after  having  been  deprived  of  his  destructive  power,  escaped  the 
fate  of  the  other  Titans,  and  fled  to  the  plains  of  Latiura,  where  he  concealed 
himself,  and  transferred  thither  the  Golden  Age  —  that  happy  period  when 
mankind  lived  in  a  state  of  perfect  equality,  and  all  things  were  in  common. 
He  ia  said  to  have  arrived  in  a  ship  at  the  Tiber,  in  the  dominions  of  Janus, 
and  in  union  with  him  to  have  reigned  over  men  with  wisdom  and  beniguity.' 
— Dwight's  Mythology. 


A  SHIP  with  lofty  prow  came  down 

To  Latium's  strand  — 
A  God  had  burst  from  severed  chains, 

To  rule  the  land. 

Plenty  and  smiling  Peace  sprung  up 

Beneath  his  tread  — 
Earth  blossomed  like  Hesperian  fields  • 

Discord  was  dead. 

Heaven,  with  its  calm,  supernal  light, 

Had  blessed  the  spot — 
And  Misery  in  the  enchanted  realm, 

Durst  enter  not. 


92  THE    GOLDEN   AGE. 

\ 

Life  passed  away,  like  holy  dreams 

On  spring-tide  eves  — 
And  melted  as  the  sunset  melts 

From  violet  leaves. 

From  haunted  wood-shades  genii  flew, 

In  twilights  dim  — 
Nature  and  human  hearts  drank  deep 

Their  'wildering  hymn. 

Earth,  air  and  heaven  entranced  were  — 

A  cloudless  clime 
Hung,  like  transparent  dews,  around 

That  Golden  Time. 

Those  golden  years  have  passed,  to  come 

In  purer  light  — 
Their  hopes  that  sleep,  but  are  not  dead, 

Will  chase  the  night. 

TIME  from  the  dungeon-vault  of  SIN 

Will  strongly  burst, 
And  glorious  in  his  wrath  cast  off 

His  chains  accurst. 


THE    GOLDEN    AGE.  93 


A  GOD  will  reach  from  viewless  realms 

This  mortal  shore, 
And  dark-robed  Misery  flee  his  face, 

Forevermore. 


94  THE    EVE    OF    THE    BRIDAL. 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  BRIDAL. 

AND  hath  it  come,  that  strange,  o'ermastering  Hour, 
When  blushing  Hope,  and  tender,  tremulous  Fears 
Sway  the  full  heart  with  a  divided  power, 
Alternate  sunshine  and  alternate  tears  ? 

0  !  for  a  spell  to  charm  away  thy  care, 

As  I  could  charm  were  I  but  near  thee  now, 
Chiding  with  lightsome  laughter  the  despair,  — 
That  girlish,  coy  despair  that  dusks  thy  brow. 

A  fitful  shade  that  dims  the  flush  of  joy, 
Like  those  transparent  clouds  in  summer  days, 
That  cast  a  silvery  shadow,  and  destroy 
The  else  unveiled  noon's  too  dazzling  blaze  ; 

Yet,  from  the  fair  hills  of  this  foreign  shore, 

1  waft  thee  benedictions  on  the  wind, 
Hopes,  that  a  peaceful  Bliss  forevermote 
May  rule  the  golden  Empire  of  thy  mind. 


THE    EVE    OF    THE    BRIDAL.  95 

And  blessing  thus,  the  darkening  distance  dies, 
And  in  a  grander  than  Agrippa's  glass, 
—  The  enamored  Fancy,  —  a  pale  picture  lies, 
Brightening  to  shape  and  beauty  ere  it  pass. 

A  room  where  sunset's  glory  faint  and  dim, 
Girds  the  rich  chamber  with  luxurious  grace, 
Rounds  the  fair  outline  of  each  delicate  limb, 
And  crowns  with  mellowed  lustre  thy  sweet  face,  — 

In  graceful  folds  thy  loose  robes,  soft  and  rare, 
Swell  with  the  passionate  heaving  of  thy  breast, 
O'er  whose  young  loveliness,  the  entranced  Air, 
More  golden  seeming,  seeks  voluptuous  rest. 

Thy  hand  —  in  two  brief  hours  no  longer  thine  — 
Gleams  by  a  damask  curtain,  filled  with  sighs, 
And  the  full,  star-like  tears  begin  to  shine 
In  the  blue  heaven  of  thy  bewildering  eyes. 

Tears  for  the  girlhood,  almost  past  away, 
Its  innocent  life,  its  Wealth  of  tender  lore, 
Tears  for  the  womanhood,  whose  opening  day, 
Glimmering,  reveals  the  untried  scene  before. 


96  THE    EVE    OF    THE    BRIDAL. 

/ 

Not  bitter  tears  !  for  him  thou  lov'st  is  true, 
And  all  thy  being  trembles  into  flame, 
A  soft,  delicious  flame  that  thrills  thee  through, 
Whene'er  thy  spirit  whispers  his  dear  name. 

Ev'n  now  I  see  thee  turn  thy  timid  head, 
Luxuriant-locked,  towards  a  dim  retreat, 
Where  twilight  shadows  veil  thy  bridal  bed, 
And  golden  Gloom,  and  amorous  Silence  meet. 

But  hark  !  a  step  !  with  quick,  alarmed  start, 
Gathering  thy  garb  about  thee  in  mute  haste, 
I  see  thee  standing  with  ripe  lips  apart, 
And  wealth  of  tresses  lavished  in  sweet  waste. 

A  step !  it  is  the  approach  of  her,  whose  hands 
[Dear  hands]  long  to  array  thee  for  the  rite, 
Which  draws  around  thy  life  the  welcome  bands 
Of  wedded  joys  and  duties,  born  to-night. 

She  comes!  and  soon  enrobed  in  fair  guise, 
Fresh  as  a  rose  the  summer  winds  have  wooed, 
Thou  goest  to  pledge  thy  faith  in  low  replies, 
And  leave  for  aye  thy  virgin  solitude. 


THE    EVE    OF    THE    BRIDAL.  97 

And  Peace  go  with  thee,  as  thy  steps  depart, 
Blest  be  all  sinless  passion,  like  to  thine, 
And  Heaven's  divinest  Angels  guard  the  heart, 
The  inviolate  heart,  where  true  Love  builds  a  shrine. 


98  ASPIRATIONS. 


ASPIRATIONS. 

To  have  the  will  to  soar,  but  not  the  wings,  — 
Eyes  fixed  forever  on  a  starry  height, 
Where  stately  shapes  of  grand  imaginings 
Flash  down  the  splendors  of  imperial  light ; 

And  yet  to  lack  the  charm  that  makes  them  ours, 
Th'  obedient  vassals  of  that  conquering  spell, 
Whose  omnipresent  and  ethereal  powers, 
Encircle  Heaven,  nor  fear  to  enter  Hell ; 

This  is  the  doom  of  Tantalus  —  the  thirst 
For  beauty's  balmy  fount  to  quench  the  fires 
Of  the  wild  passion  that  our  soul  hath  nurst 
In  hopeless  promptings  —  unfulfilled  desires. 

Yet  would  I  rather  in  the  outward  state 

Of  Song's  immortal  Palace  lay  me  down, 

A  beggar  basking  by  that  golden  gate, 

Than  bend  beneath  the  haughtiest  Empire's  crown. 


ASPIRATIONS.  99 

For  sometimes,  through  the  bars,  my  tranced  eyes 
Have  caught  the  vision  of  a  life  divine, 
And  seen  a  far,  mysterious  rapture  rise 
Beyond  the  veil  that  guards  the  inmost  shrine. 


100  LINES. 


LINES. 

WE  walk,  unconscious,  blind  Somnambulists, 
All  girded  round  with  the  dull  mist  of  dreams, 
Among  the  shadows  of  our  shifting  years  ; 
Blindly  we  stumble  onward,  step  by  step, 
Near  the  precipitous  edges  of  our  Fate, 
Nor  deem  how  many  footfalls,  or  how  few, 
Divide  us  from  the  fearful  gulf  that  waits, 
—  A  Horror,  ghastly  with  mysterious  glooms,  — 
To  whelm  us  in  its  dim,  Tartarean  depths. 

We  gaze  on  beauty,  but  while  yet  our  eyes 

With  the  bright  drops  of  rapture  overflow, 

The  beauty  wanes,  and  passes  into  Heaven  ; 

Till  at  the  last,  we  learn  to  look  beneath 

The  blush  that  masks,  and  mark  the  stealthy  worm, 

And  all  the  loveliest  Images  of  earth 

Grow  mournful  to  our  sad  Philosophy. 


LINES.  101 

Only,  irradiate  with  the  dews  of  youth, 

And  its  empurpling  atmosphere  of  joy, 

Our  false  Life  puts  a  Halcyon  glory  on  ; 

O  !  golden-tinted  years,  when  in  the  sky 

We  see  bright  shapes,  and  hear  a  tender  voice 

Of  benediction,  when  the  Winds  reveal 

Their  mystic  thoughts  to  our  attuned  ears, 

And  not  a  violet  blossoms  on  the  lea, 

And  not  a  leaf  is  quivering  in  the  light, 

And  not  a  song  of  any  bird  that  flies 

By  the  lone  beach,  or  through  the  woodland  aisles, 

But  comes  the  special  delegate  of  Heaven, 

To  strike  a  morning  sunshine  on  the  soul. 

But  soon,  the  early  splendor  pales  and  dies, 

But  soon,  the  flowers,  the  woodlands,  the  glad  birds, 

No  longer  own  a  blest  Interpreter  ; 

But  treacherous  Sin,  with  heavy-lidded  Grief 

Close  following  after,  brands  the  Universe 

With  the  funereal  blazonry  of  wo. 

O  !  grant  me  but  once  more,  for  the  last  time, 
Ere  falls  the  black  Night  weltering  in  its  shades, 
The  gift  of  childhood's  glorious  Alchemy, 
That  turns  even  gloom  to  gladness,  and  the  dross, 


102  LINES. 

(Or  what  we  wise  Philosophers  term  dross) 
Of  lowliest  things,  to  golden  mines  of  bliss  ; 
O  !  give  me  back  BELIEF,  the  unfaltering  TRUST 
In  man,  in  Nature,  and  in  Providence, 
That  arched  the  Air  with  rainbows,  and  the  earth 
Thrilled  with  the  music  of  harmonious  tongues, 
Till  in  the  multitudinous  forms  of  being, 
The  humblest  to  the  highest,  I  may  find 
One  soul  of  beauty,  and  one  voice  of  God. 


ANTIPATHIES.  103 


ANTIPATHIES. 

LOVE  is  no  product  of  the  obedient  will, 
It  hath  its  root  in  those  deep  sympathies, 
Mere  ties  of  blood  are  powerless  to  control ; 
I  love  thee  not  because  around  thy  heart 
An  Arctic  nature  hath  built  up  the  ice 
Of  thawless  winter  :  —  vain  it  is  to  strive 
Against  the  law  of  just  Antipathies  : 
The  Tropic  sunlight  burns  not  at  the  Poles, 
Nor  blooms  the  lustrous  foliage  of  the  East 
Among  the  rocky,  storm-bound  Hebrides  ; 
To  all  my  Gods  thou  art  antipodal, 
Therefore,  again,  Good  Sir !  —  I  love  thee  not. 


104  TO 


TO 


THY  life  hath  been  a  warfare  from  the  first, 
But  one  by  one  thou  hast  besieged  and  burst 
The  iron  gates  of  Prejudice,  and  wrung 
Tardy  confession  from  an  enemy's  tongue, 
Of  the  just  might  of  genius  and  of  will, 
Against  their  petty  instruments  of  ill  — 
The  sneer  of  ignorance,  and  the  scorn  of  pride, 
The  blinded,  arrogant  folly  that  would  ride 
Rough-shod  o'er  merit,  and  the  pomp  of  place 
That  fain  would  deem  it  somewhat  of  disgrace 
To  bend  its  shallow  dignity  —  and  know 
It  doth  receive  an  honor,  not  bestow , 
When  one  whom  God  hath  gifted  with  the  dower 
Of  lofty  foresight,  and  rich  words  of  power, 
Accepts  that  homage  which  a  luminous  Fate 
Decrees  the  Small  must  render  to  the  Great. 
At  last  upon  thy  brow,  despite  of  them, 
Fame  sets  her  broad,  imperial  diadem, 
And  not  a  jewel  blazes  in  that  crown, 
But  gleams  a  separate  scorn  to  quail  them  down. 


MISCONSTRUCTION.  105 


MISCONSTRUCTION. 

'How  man  misjudges  man  !  the  outward  seeming, 
Gesture,  or  glance,  or  utterance,  that  may  jar 
Against  some  petty,  pampered,  poor  conceit, 
Unworthy,  undefined,  is  straightway  made 
To  prove  a  vast  obliquity  of  soul, 
And  shallow  disputants,  with  ponderous  show 
Of  judgment,  that  provokes  the  wise  to  scorn, 
Exalt  the  virtuous  by  the  foul  abuse 
Which  damns  THEM  to  the  level  of  their  speech. 


106  A   FRAGMENT. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

TRUTH,  like  Death,  bends  a  stern  gaze  on  man, 
And  in  the  awful  calmness  of  her  eyes, 
Fate  sits,  a  shrouded,  solitary  God, 
Glooming  the  depths  of  their  Eternity. 


107 


NOTES. 


NOTE  1.     Page  17. 

THE  veracious  '  Father  of  History,'  in  his  minute  Egyptian 
researches,  made  it  a  matter  of  special  inquiry,  — '  how  it  came 
to  pass  that  the  Nile  is  the  only  one  of  all  rivers  that  does  not 
send  forth  breezes  from  its  surface.'  —  Euterpe,  11. 

NOTE  2.    Page  17. 

.  .  .  Even  if  the  supernatural  element  in  the  legend  be  not 
considered,  it  will  scarcely  be  thought  unwarrantable  that  the 
ruins  of  a  Greek  villa  should  be  introduced  on  the  borders  of 
the  desert,  when  we  reflect  that  a  large  proportion  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Alexandria  from  its  foundation  were  Greeks,  and  that 
nothing  is  more  probable  than  that  the  wealthier  classes  among 
them  should  have  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  country  retreats, 
accessible  by  a  brief  journey  up  the  Nile. 

NOTE  3.    Page  20. 

This  apostrophe  to  the  higher  qualities  of  Aphrodite,  is 
purposely  placed  in  opposition  to  the  grosser  idea  of  the  legend. 
Indeed  it  was  not  until  the  identification  of  the  Greek  Goddess 


108  NOTES. 


with  the  Roman  Venus,  that  she  became  mostly  a  sensual  Divin- 
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appears  the  most  exquisite  and  graceful  conception  in  the  mar- 
vellous Hellenic  mythology;  but  the  '  earthiness  '  of  the  Roman 
imagination  was  all-infecting,  and  under  its  transforming  influ- 
ence Aphrodite,  degenerated  into  a  mere  voluptuary.  It  was 
reserved  for  the  Fathers  to  invest  her  with  the  additional  honor 
of  a  Fiendship. 


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